The Hunter and the Bookworm
by Melodious329
Summary: A retelling of the Beauty and the Beast fairy tale Supernatural style. Dean is a fierce prince raised as a hunter. Sam is a peasant who loves to read books about the supernatural for which he is teased. Dean needs Sam's help.
1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time in a village far, far away, there lived a young man named Samuel Singer. He was called Sam or sometimes Sammy, but he hated that nickname. Anyway, Sam lived with his father, Bobby, in a small village called Lawrence. It was just him and his father because Sam's mother had died in childbirth.

Bobby was a good man, a handyman. He fixed anything from broken carriage wheels to bar stools. He loved his son and Sam loved him. Unfortunately Sam didn't fit in in the village of Lawrence.

The people of Lawrence were simple, farmers, bakers, and butchers. But Sam was different. Sam was in love with books. That was bad enough. The townspeople thought that Sam was too absent-minded with his head in the clouds. They thought that he was uppity, acting better than them, acting above his life's station. Sam could never be formally educated, he hadn't been born into the right social class.

But that wasn't the only reason the townspeople talked behind Sam's back, laughed in his face, tripped him in the street. It was Sam's choice of reading material. Since he was a child, Sam had loved stories of the supernatural, stories of ghosts, poltergeists, wendigos, and demons. Things the rational, hard-working people of Lawrence didn't believe in, things that were seen as just a childish dream and a waste of time.

Bobby loved his son and wanted Sam to have a good, easy life; to work hard, get married, and have a family. He only wanted what was best for Sam and tried to discourage Sam's love of these books, but Sam was stubborn. Sam was always using the money he got from helping his father's work to buy more books whenever the seller was in town.

In the end, though, it would be Sam's love of books about the supernatural that would change his life forever.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

It all began when Bobby had to travel through the forest to pick up supplies in Wichita. It was supposed to be routine. He was supposed to stick to a well-traveled path. That was before the ghost though.

He was determined to make the trip in one day and so it was becoming dark as he was returning home. Bobby had a horse, a stallion named Rumsfeld. The horse had been with him for years and was getting a little long in the tooth and so Bobby dismounted as he reached the edge of town, knowing that Rumsfeld already had a heavy load on him.

They walked past a graveyard. Bobby had walked past the same site many a time, but that night, he heard strange noises from inside. He stopped to listen and the noise became a woman's screaming.

Startled at the unexpected, high-pitched sound, Rumsfeld bucked and ran off. But Bobby wasn't the type of man to leave a woman in distress and so he cautiously entered the graveyard, searching for the source of the sounds.

There he was in the dark of night, creeping around the tall family tombs and the low headstones with only his lantern to see by. And what he saw shocked him. Someone was digging a grave…A graverobber! Though Bobby could only see the shovel as it tossed dirt out of the coffin-sized hole, lit by the lanterns that were placed on either side of the headstone.

He moved closer, only to be suddenly thrown away like a rag doll, landing hard on his backside some feet away, his lantern flying even further and presumably going out since Bobby couldn't see it any longer. But the light from the two other lanterns was more than enough to see what approached him. A woman, pale and completely grey, and she was _flickering_, one second there and the next second gone.

Terrified, Bobby couldn't move, only raised his arm to cover his face as she approached, her face horrible, scowling with a murderous look in her grey eyes, her arm outstretched towards him…

Bobby squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the assault, waiting for _death_…but the blow never came. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The woman had turned away, was facing now another man dressed in light armor, a helmet on his head. The knight swung a heavy-looking broadsword, but it never connected. The woman disappeared, _disappeared_, the sword swinging through air and then the woman reappeared behind the knight.

The knight turned quickly, but not quick enough. The woman threw him away just as easily as Bobby had been thrown, the knight landing with a heavy thunk of metal on his side. In that armor, Bobby knew that the knight would never be able to get back up in time, never be able to get to his sword before the woman got to him.

But just as the woman got near, the knight reached into a pouch hanging from his waist, throwing some sort of dust at the woman. Much to Bobby's surprise, the woman dissipated with another shriek. The knight then pushed himself to his feet, running back to the open grave. He grabbed one of the lanterns and threw it in just as the woman materialized behind him again. She then went up in a blaze, screaming as she disappeared for the last time while flames licked the open edges of the hole in the ground.

Bobby could hear his own breathing, loud in the sudden silence, harsh from the fear of his near-death experience. He couldn't think, had no idea what he had seen. It couldn't be possible, but he would swear that he had been attacked by a ghost.

He was shocked out of his own semi-hysterical thoughts by the knight moving towards him where he still sat on the ground. By the light of the last lantern that the knight was now carrying, Bobby noticed the type of the man's armor, the color of the plumes coming out of the helmet. It was the Prince's colors. Bobby was certain.

Bobby scrambled to his feet. The man's face was obscured by the nosepiece of the helmet that the knight still wore. But nobody knew what the prince looked like nowadays. He hadn't been seen since he was a child, a beautiful blonde-haired child with big green eyes just like the Queen had had.

The man didn't remove his helmet now. Bobby attempted a slight bow, uttering a stuttered, "P-prince?"

The knight was standing stock still before him, but the helmeted-head slightly inclined in answer to Bobby's question.

What was the Prince doing in a graveyard in the middle of the night? A graveyard with a ghost?! But that wasn't what came out of Bobby's mouth. He had been a peasant in the Winchester's kingdom all his life and he well-understood the respect that he should show the Prince.

So what Bobby said was, "M-milord, you saved my life."

Again that slight inclination of the head was all the answer that was given.

"How can I repay you, sir?"

For a long moment, Bobby didn't think that the Prince would speak. Then, with a low gravelly voice like he was unused to speaking, the man said, "You have a son."

The Prince paused. Bobby waited for a moment wondering if that was all that the man would say, but as the silence continued, he choked out an answer though the Prince's reply hadn't sounded like a question, "Yes, I do."

"I require his services. As the price for saving your life, I want him at the palace by noon tomorrow."

Bobby was stunned. He wanted to argue, he wanted to ask why, but you didn't question the will of the Prince. The man didn't wait for an answer either. Simply assuming that his wishes would be carried out, the Prince sheathed his sword and retrieved the shovel. Then he was striding away to a black horse tied to a tree that Bobby had not even noticed until that moment. The horse had not made a sound despite the commotion that had just occurred.

Bobby walked the rest of the way to his small house in a daze. He still couldn't believe what had happened, couldn't believe that he had seen either the Prince or the ghost. What if it wasn't really the Prince? Why would the real Prince be hunting ghosts in the graveyard? Because that was what Bobby knew now had happened. That man had _known_ that the ghost would be there and had purposefully gone there to destroy it.

But if it wasn't really the Prince then Bobby didn't have to send his only son away. Didn't even have to tell Sam about it. It would just give the boy ideas anyway. How was he supposed to obey an order that was given by a man who gave no proof of his identity? The man had had none of his revenue with him, did not show the royal seal, did not even show his face.

He had forgotten that Rumsfeld had run away, ran straight back home, but he was quickly reminded when Sam came running out to meet him. Sam threw himself at his father, wrapping the shorter man up in long, muscular arms. Bobby often forgot how big his little boy had gotten, how grown-up Sam was, but at that moment, he was forcibly reminded.

Sam pulled back, but didn't release his strong grip on his father's shoulders as questions poured out of his mouth. "Where were you? What happened? Rumseld has been here for an age…He ran like he was escaping something? Did something happen?"

"Sam, calm down. Nothing happened. I'm fine as you can see."

Sam's eyes darkened. He knew that his father was hiding something. It was in the way that Bobby tipped his head, didn't meet his eyes. He didn't understand why Bobby was always keeping secrets, saying that it was for his own good, when Sam thought that he was old enough to decide for himself.

"It was nothing. A noise frightened the horse."

Sam pulled his hands away. "I know you're lying. Rumsfeld is used to all kinds of noises. He's been around bar brawls and dog fights. What are you hiding?"

Bobby ran his hand over his head, wondering how much he should say and how much he could get away with hiding. "There was a grave robber, that cemetery just outside of town, that I got in the middle of."

Sam's expressive face clearly showed his shock, almond-shaped eyes going wide, his huge hands clutching again his father's shoulders as his mind immediately went to the worst scenario. "W-wha…How did you get away?"

Bobby sighed. "A man…a man was there who saved me."

"Oh, what luck." Sam sagged with relief, before looking up again as a thought occurred to him. "Well, I hope you offered to repay the man. You didn't have anything with you with the horse gone…should I make something? Are we going to see him tomorrow?"

It was moments like this that Bobby thought that Sam's quick mind was actually not the blessing he sometimes told Sam it was.

"He, uh…he didn't ask for anything. Said he was happy to be of service…" Bobby attempted to move past Sam into the house then, but Sam's hands held him fast. Sam's strength was starting to look like a disadvantage too at that moment.

"It wasn't…surely it couldn't have been. It's ridiculous," Bobby babbled.

"Dad, what?"

"It was…he was in the Prince's colors, the Prince's armor. I never saw his face…"

Sam was again surprised by the words coming out of his father's mouth. "What did he ask for?"

"You," Bobby breathed out, looking into his son's hazel eyes. "He said that my son should be at the palace by noon tomorrow."

Sam couldn't even breathe, didn't know what to say or think about that. But suddenly Bobby couldn't stop talking.

"Sam, look at me. You're not going. There's no way to know for certain that it really was the Prince, we can't be expected to…"

"No." No one else would wear the Prince's colors, no one would dare. To impersonate a member of the royal household would mean a quick death. Most palace servants were born into that life, but the Prince could ask for whatever he wanted. And if he wanted Sam, then Sam would go.

"No. He saved your life. I have to go."

Bobby grabbed his son's shoulders then. But Sam didn't let him speak. "Dad, I'm going."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Sam lay in his bed that night unable to sleep. His mind raced over all the possibilities, all the things that he had ever heard about the Prince and the palace.

The Prince was the only child of King John and Queen Mary. As a child, he had often been seen out and about, was shown off at all manner of dinners and celebrations, but then the Queen had died. An accident it was said, a fire in a servant's room. That was when everything changed.

There were few servants left in the palace. Most had been sent away, given homes and positions elsewhere. The King had only been seen occasionally after that, mostly at important functions, never at celebrations. He was obviously mourning the Queen's death.

Now though, the King had not been seen for many months. It was said that the functions of the kingdom were conducted entirely by correspondence. Only messengers went in or out of the palace. Except, there were rumors that a knight on a black horse had been seen riding out of the castle at night. By the slim build, it was assumed to be the Prince.

There were more rumors. It was rumored that the Prince was a monster. That he had been horribly transfigured in the fire that had killed his mother. He rode out of the castle like a soul escaping the fires of hell itself. It was said that he showed up in full armor at the scene of disasters, deaths, and murders. Some blamed the Prince for the mayhem.

Sam had no idea what he would find when he reached the palace gates. Would he find a terrible master, a horrifying, spiteful man who took out the pain of his life's tragedies on others? Would he even be allowed in the gate? It was a small possibility that it hadn't been the Prince who had saved his father. It could also have simply been a test of his father's loyalty.

Sam also thought getting the opportunity to leave Lawrence. As a peasant, he was tied to the land, unable to move away from the village in which he was born. He was excited at the prospect of being someplace new. It wasn't like he would be missed anyway. Sam knew that everyone thought that he was worthless, even his father.

His father was always chastising him for reading, was always disappointed in Sam because Sam wasn't as interested in the village's activities, wasn't as good at his father's woodwork. Sam thought his father should be proud of his unique talents, proud that he had taught himself to read. Sam was tired of being the outcast, being the freak. He wondered, hoped that he would fit in better at the palace.

Morning eventually came though Sam had slept only a few hours. He had to rise early and get started if he were to make it to the palace by noon. Soberly, Sam got dressed and gathered the things that he would take with him. He had no idea how long he would be at the palace, but he had to assume that he wouldn't be coming back to his father's house any time soon.

Sam joined his father at the table for breakfast after. Neither man had any idea what to say to the other. Bobby knew that Sam was stubborn, that he would not be persuaded to stay.

Finally, Sam stood up from the table, waiting as his disgruntled father huffed and stood as well. The hug was quick, hands slapping shoulders roughly before they separated again. Bobby gave Sam a small packet of food for the journey and then Sam was off, walking as he was unwilling to take his father's only horse.

Sam arrived at the palace early, at least half an hour before noon. The palace was surrounded by a dense forest and a huge stone wall. Sam made his way around the wall to the gate, thinking that even in the bright sunshine the palace seemed foreboding, a dark stone blemish on the landscape. He wondered what it would have been like to grow up in. He wondered what it was like before.

Just as he approached the gate, the huge wooden doors swung inwards, opening to show Sam a view of the well-cared for inner courtyard and a fully-armored knight astride a black horse. A knight wearing the Prince's colors. Without any indication that he had seen the younger man waiting outside, the knight rode out, indeed riding fast like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

Sam stared after the disappearing figure for a long moment, before he heard a shout from behind him.

"Hey kid!" Sam turned to see a well-built, bald, black man dressed in servant's garb holding open the gate. "Hurry up and get inside if you're coming."

Chastised, Sam ducked his head as he hurried inside, the man closing first one great door and then the other. The doors were then locked.

Finished with the doors, the man neither looked nor spoke to him, but began striding towards the castle immediately. Sam had no choice but to follow after, almost tripping over his own giant feet in his haste.

They entered by a small wooden door that had both men stooping to get through. Looking around, Sam saw that they were in the kitchen. He spun around, taking in the large surroundings and he didn't notice that a woman had entered the room until she spoke.

"Sam? That's your name, ain't it?"

Spinning around to face the voice, Sam saw it was a woman who was older but still attractive with brown hair and eyes. She had her hands on her hips, her posture as no-nonsense as her words.

Flustered, Sam hesitated. He had just opened his mouth to speak when the black man huffed, and then, grumbling under his breath something about 'overly anxious puppies', left the room swiftly.

The woman's eyes became softer then. "Don't mind him none. Come on, honey, have a seat at the table here."

Sam's wide lips tilted up in a grateful smile and the woman smiled back, taking her own seat at the table as Sam joined her.

"Well, I'm Ellen."

"I-I'm Sam, but I guess you knew that already."

Her smile was comforting, motherly and Sam found himself relaxing in her presence. "Well I'm the cook here. I also do most of the cleaning and washing. As you might guess, most of the rooms here aren't in use. And my daughter…"

As if on cue, Sam heard a high-pitched, irritated voice calling for 'Mom' right before the door to the kitchen was opening again. The swinging door revealed a young woman, probably just out of her teens, blonde, blue-eyed, and pretty.

"Mom, why did you put…"

"Jo," Ellen's tone held a note of command that Sam suspected was the only thing that had a hope of cutting off her daughter's complaints. "Meet our new arrival."

Sam was surprised that they had known of his arrival, knew him by name. He hadn't thought that he would warrant such care.

Jo looked over the young man with ill-concealed interest, a smile tugging at the corners of her pink lips as she plopped herself down in the seat between Sam and her mother. "So this is Sam."

"Yes, this is Sam," Ellen parroted, the words containing an obvious censure of her daughter's flirtations.

Jo's smile only became wider at her mother's displeasure. "Well, welcome to the palace. Probably not what you were expecting, but it's ok."

Ellen took up the conversation as soon as her daughter finished speaking. "Yes, well, this is my daughter Jo. She, occasionally, helps me. And you've already met Henderson, he can be a little snide but…"

"You'll get used to him," Jo interjected.

Sam nodded, taking in the information, finally having a name to go with the man's face. It took him a minute to realize that Ellen was apparently done with the introductions. "That's it. Just the three of you?"

"Yep, just us. As I said, most of the castle isn't in use, and Dean doesn't like a lot of people knowing his business."

"Dean?" Sam queried.

"The Prince," Jo chimed in. "He's great. Did you see him on his horse as you came in?" The girl's voice held a tad of worship in it.

Ellen scowled again. "Don't mind her. She's been carrying a torch for the boy since she was knee high to a grasshopper. Now don't get the wrong idea, Dean's a sweet boy, he just…he's had to take on a lot of responsibility at too young an age."

Sam supposed that that made sense, being the Prince and all, Dean must have all kinds of responsibilities that Sam could never dream of. But he didn't miss the maternal note to Ellen's voice when she spoke about the other man.

"You call him by his first name?"

Ellen's smile became a smirk, "Depends on what kind of mood he's in. I wouldn't try it if I were you, not at first."

Sam nodded to himself.

"Anyway, I'm sure he'll be back in a bit to go over your responsibilities. Until then, Jo can show you to your room and lunch should be ready by the time that you two get back."

She stood then, effectively dismissing them. Sam grabbed his pack and followed the girl out into the front room. It was beautiful with a high-ceiling and a chandelier that caught the light, shining like a small sun in its own right. The fabrics, the furniture, the wallpaper…it was all beautiful.

Sam followed Jo up a wooden staircase, stopping when she did at the top. She pointed to the wing to the left of the staircase, saying, "Those are the unused rooms. Dean doesn't want us to go over there. He's a little secretive about some things…"

"How so?"

"Well, just that _he _goes in that wing so there must be something over there. And he won't tell anyone where he goes when he leaves, won't go out at all without wearing his armor."

Sam gulped, thinking that this was what he was worried about. He needed to know more even though he wasn't sure that he wanted to know more. "Is the Prince a good master?"

Turning incredulous eyes on him, Jo scoffed. "He's not exactly a _master _at all. Dean doesn't order us to do anything, except for Henderson to get his horse ready. He takes care of the horse himself mostly, cleans his weapons and armor himself too. Momma just makes sure he doesn't wander around in dirty clothes or starve to death."

"Oh." Sam didn't know what to say, the women's words making a confused picture in his head of the Prince, _Dean_. Sam wondered how the man himself would seem. It was certain that the Prince was hiding things, but what was the nature of these secrets? Were they horrible or harmless?

Jo led Sam to an enormous bedroom. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was as big as his father's whole house! And richly decorated in blues and yellows making the room feel warm and bright. He turned back to the girl.

"This can't be the servants' quarters?"

She shrugged. "Dean says we may as well use these rooms since nobody else is going to."

Sam set his tiny bundle on the huge, plush four-poster bed, feeling self-conscious amidst the splendor.

"Come on. I'm hungry."

Still dazed, Sam trailed behind Jo's disappearing form. He idly thought that it was a good thing that the other wing was closed off, less passages to get lost in.

Lunch was a hearty stew with brown bread and cheese. It was delicious and Sam made sure to tell Ellen so. It wasn't that his father had been a bad cook, but they hadn't often had the money to purchase ingredients like this, fresh vegetables and choice cuts of meat.

Henderson joined them for the meal as well. The man was brusque, short when he thought you were being simple, but he also had a good sense of humor.

"I guess we haven't scared you too bad." Henderson said after sitting down to eat. "You no longer look like a lost puppy, at least. Which is good, because Dean won't tolerate that."

Sam nodded, noting that the other man called the Prince by his first name as well. Curioser and curioser.

They chatted politely while finishing their lunch. It wasn't until after Sam's stomach had been filled that a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Where is the king?" Sam asked. He had thought the rumors said that the King was holed up in the palace, still running the kingdom. At his question though, the faces of the other people at the table became hard, even Jo averted her eyes to her empty bowl.

Trying to seem casual, Ellen said firmly, "He's not here."

She seemed to think that that was the end but to Sam it didn't explain anything. "But then where is he? How can he be running the kingdom if…"

"Sam," Ellen's sharp voice cut off Sam's words. She looked him in the eyes, trying to convey the importance of her next words. "You can't go around questioning the Prince or spreading rumors. The Prince does what needs to be done."

Sam nodded, chastised and looking down at his own empty bowl. He noticed that she had suddenly called Dean by his title, emphasizing his royal position and their subservient one. It wasn't Sam's place to question the Prince, but he had to wonder what had happened. Had the King died or disappeared? Why would the Prince keep it secret, secretly fulfill the King's duties? What would people think if they knew?

The ringing of a bell outside interrupted Sam's thoughts. Immediately, Henderson got up from the table hurrying outside. Sam looked questioningly over at Ellen, saw her motioning him to follow the other man.

"The Prince is here," she said.

Sam hurried to catch up with Henderson, grateful for his long legs. Henderson unlocked the gate and then Sam helped by pulling open one of the doors. On the other side, the Prince indeed waited, still astride his horse with his helmet on.

Regally, horse and rider entered the castle's courtyard, waiting as the doors were shut behind. Henderson then walked up to the horse, grabbing the reins. The Prince nodded, dismounting in a fluid show of grace that had Sam feeling very awkward and gangly. Henderson led the horse away.

Finally, Sam was face to…well, helmet with the Prince. They just looked at each other for a long moment. Sam noted that the man was shorter than himself but still tall, slim but obviously strong underneath the heavy armor. He couldn't really see the Prince's eyes, only enough to know that the other man _had_ eyes. Really the only thing of the Prince's features that were visible was the man's mouth and chin.

Those features were quite the opposite of hideous or disfigured. The Prince had a strong chin with a cleft in it, and plump pink lips that Sam couldn't help but think looked kissable. Sam was as attracted to guys as girls, though he had never even kissed either. Nobody in the village of Lawrence had wanted to kiss _him_.

After a long look, the Prince inclined his head toward the castle, indicating that Sam should follow him inside. The fact that the helmet was still not removed had Sam wondering again if the man had been burned as a child.

The Prince entered through the kitchen, inclining his head in greeting to the women but striding onward through the front room and into what was, on further inspection, a library. A huge glorious library. But it was the Prince who still occupied Sam's attention, for now at least.

Gesturing with an elegant, long-fingered hand for Sam to take a seat, the Prince turned away and then…removed his helmet. Sam's first glimpse was from the back and he saw that the Prince had dark blonde hair, cut short to reveal a slim vulnerable neck. And then the man turned.

Sam was stunned, sitting on the couch with an astonished expression on his face, openly staring at the man unveiled before him. The Prince was beautiful.

The man wasn't disfigured in the least, there was not a trace of scarring to be seen. Instead, the man had big green eyes surrounded by a thick fringe of long, dark lashes, a pert nose, and high cheekbones to add to the lips and chin from before.

Eventually Sam realized that his staring was making the other man uncomfortable, the Prince shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked down at the rug before raising a hand to run through the short hairs at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. It was interesting to see a man with such power self-conscious before him, Sam, a nobody peasant.

With difficulty, Sam closed his mouth and averted his own gaze. "Sir…" he began.

The Prince's voice cut off whatever Sam was going to say. The voice was just as stunning as the physical appearance, low and deep, authoritative but compassionate. "Sam, is it?"

Sam nodded as well as said, "Yes, sir."

The Prince made a dismissive gesture with his right hand, waving away the respectful honorific. "I trust you've gotten properly settled?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good because I need you to get to work immediately."

"What is it that you would like me to do?"

The Prince looked at him then, straight in the eye and Sam was transfixed by all the emotion that he saw there, grief, fear, determination, strength. The words that were spoken were colored with those emotions as well. "I have some research that I need for you to help me with. I had heard that you were literate, that you enjoyed research and books."

Sam noted that the Prince said the word 'books' with a slight distaste but he ignored it in favor of other questions. He wondered why the Prince hadn't just gotten someone from the University, someone with a degree to help him. Why, in fact, did the Prince not just do it himself since the Prince was no doubt literate himself? "What would you like for me to research?"

The Prince must have noticed Sam's eyes scanning the hundreds of books in the shelves that surrounded them. "Not those books. Other books, I will bring to you in here. Supernatural books."

Sam's interest was undeniably peaked. He listened carefully as the man continued. "I am looking for references to a demon named Azazel, in particular how to kill the thing."

Sam's interested was peaked but his mood was subdued at the Prince's request. He wanted to ask why, why would a man like the Prince, who apparently was in charge of running a kingdom care about any references to a demon? Sam had a sneaking suspicion that it was really just busy work.

The Prince had saved a bumbling man in the forest and without anything else to ask for in return for his service, had asked for another servant only to realize that he had no actual duties for the young man to attend to. At least that's what went through Sam's mind.

Still there was only one answer. "Absolutely, sir. I'll get right to work."

Dean smiled then, almost in relief. It made the Prince who was a couple of years older than Sam himself seem years younger.

"Alright, then. Good. I'll get out of this…," Dean thumped a fist against his breastplate casually, as if armor were simply a fashion statement. "And then I'll bring you some books."

The Prince turned to go, Sam following him to the door that was left open. Ellen was there in the front room and the Prince spoke to her as he passed on his way up the stairs. "I'll just scrounge up something for lunch when I come back."

"Oh no!" Ellen yelled back at the retreating form. "I'm not letting you loose in my kitchen. There won't be any food left!"

Sam imagined that he could just hear the sound of deep laughter as the Prince disappeared. Ellen turned back towards the kitchen, which just left Sam with Jo.

"So he lives in one of those rooms with us?"

Jo nodded. "Yeah, the one on the very end, it's the biggest of course."

"Of course," Sam mumbled. They watched as the Prince, now dressed in tan leggings and an off-white tunic hurried into the wing to the left, the wing they weren't supposed to go in.

"I see what you mean," Sam said.

"Yep, it's not exactly a secret, but he's very adamant about us not going over there."

And then the Prince was back in view, carrying a small stack of books and acting like he hadn't done anything strange at all. Sam followed the smaller man back into the library, watching with avid eyes as the Prince bent over the desk to put down the heavy old tomes, or to be specific, Sam watched the Prince's backside, his perfectly rounded ass and the flex of back muscles that Sam could see underneath the loose cotton shirt.

The Prince then turned back to Sam with an expectant gaze. Sam sat in the desk chair with a resigned smile. The Prince's expression then turned serious, anxious and even beseeching.

"Please, hurry."

Sam was confused, the Prince seemed so sincere, like he really was relying on Sam to find an important answer.

"I will."

The Prince was back to smiling then. "Well I suppose Ellen's already filled you in on how things run around here. If you need anything like clothes or what not, she'll get them for you. But the most important rule is that you are strictly forbidden from entering the west wing, for any reason."

The Prince waited expectantly for Sam's nod before leaving the room. He presumably then entered the kitchen as Sam could hear loud voices from that direction. With a sigh, he turned to the books, pulling the first one across the desk to him, blinking at the dust that came with it.

He still didn't know why he was doing this, but at the very least, he was planning to enjoy himself. These were the kinds of books that a poor peasant like himself never would have gotten his hands on. It was almost like a dream come true. Sam had a comfortable bed, delicious food, interesting company and work…and a beautiful man to look at even if he couldn't touch.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Sam couldn't say how the rest of the household spent their day as he quickly became engrossed in the text he was reading. He barely even looked up until Jo came to collect him for dinner.

The table was set in the kitchen again, and just as Sam was wondering if the Prince ate in the dining room by himself, the man himself entered. The Prince sat down at the head of the table opposite the cooking fires, smiling as Ellen put the food on the table. Sam sat beside Jo who had made sure to sit nearest the Prince, Henderson sat on the other side and Ellen at the head of the table nearest the cooking fire.

Jo seemed to completely forget Sam's existence with the Prince in the room. As soon as the food was served, she was telling the Prince about a new style of dress she had seen last time that she had been to the market with her mother. Sam figured that the Prince couldn't possibly care about such things, but the Prince surprised him, flirting back.

"Well then, I suppose you'll have to find the pattern for this dress next time y'all go. And buy some pretty material."

Jo smiled like she had been expecting nothing less even as her mother scowled.

"She doesn't need any more dresses. There's no reason to spend more money…"

But the Prince just cut her off with a smile that set Sam's britches tightening even though it wasn't aimed at him. "Nonsense. Pretty girls need pretty things."

Sam was fairly certain that Jo's smile was an attempt to be coy but it came off smug more than anything else. Then Ellen was trying to divert the conversation by talking about the meat that she had bought and the exotic fruits that she had seen at the market.

The whole thing was surreal. Sam was away from home for the first time in his life, living in the _castle_, eating dinner with the _Prince_ at the servants' table, talking about the wares at the market. The Prince seemed like just a regular guy, but there were also subtle things that demonstrated that that was not in fact the case. Nobody at the table mentioned where Dean had gone that morning in full armor, nor did they ask about why the books Sam was going through had been brought from the 'forbidden' wing. They didn't say anything about the reason for Sam's presence amongst them.

The Prince almost seemed to accentuate his persona as one of them. The man was obviously a slob, eating a huge amount and talking with food in his mouth. It was as if the Prince had forgotten the manners he had most certainly had as a child, or maybe as if the Prince didn't want to remember those years, those happy times when his mother had still been living.

Sam ate his more modest portion with quiet care, concentrating more on observing his dinner companions than joining in their conversations yet. As they finished the meal and stood, the Prince turned to Sam once more. "If you're tired, I understand. I just…as much time as you can spend on those books…"

The sentence was left open-ended but Sam got the picture, even though it was still a confused one in his head. Wouldn't the more Sam worked the sooner that the books would run out? Was he to be sent back when this imaginary task was finished? But again he didn't voice any of those questions, just nodded his acquiescence.

Sam wondered what the Prince did with his evenings. Did he read a book in the library, have a smoke and a drink? Sam couldn't help leaning out the kitchen door to watch the other man as that lithe body climbed the stairs and then disappeared into the west wing.

"Sam," Ellen called him back in. "I just want to let you know about some things. I'll have Henderson light the fire in your room, you can go to bed whenever you are so inclined. Breakfast is a casual affair. I normally just leave some bread, fruit, and cheese out and you can heat water for a bath any time you'd like. Ok?  
Sam smiled and nodded. He ended up back in the library, lighting the candles from the fire in that room and settling with a book on the couch this time.

He didn't see anyone when he went to bed that night, but there were lights visible underneath the Prince's door, more light than could be accounted for by just the fire. Sam laid down on the soft bed, a bed so huge that he was able to spread his limbs as wide as he wanted, and pulled the lavish feather bedspread over himself. He would admit that he missed his father, but he was certainly not homesick.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning dawned bright and early for Sam. He had always been an early riser, had needed to be before, and though the Prince had not said anything about a specific number of hours that Sam should spend researching per day, Sam did not want to appear lazy and insolent.

He washed out of the basin of water that he had brought up with him the night before, then dressed and went downstairs. No one was in the kitchen when he entered, though Sam couldn't determine whether that meant that he was early or late. He supposed that he couldn't be too early since there was food already laid out on the table.

Before long though, Sam was joined by Henderson and a bleary looking Prince, definitely not a morning person. Sam filed that information away with all of the Prince's other quirks that he was now privy too.

Sam wondered why the man had bothered to get up at all, but for once, his curiosity was sated when the outside bell rung. Henderson got up immediately to open the gate, while the Prince stood, grumpily telling Sam, "Damn messengers always arriving at the crack of dawn…"

Sam wanted to laugh, wanted to tell the other man that it was not in fact the _crack _of dawn, but Sam refrained. He had not quite figured out what things were appropriate to say to the Prince and what were not. He simply made his way back to the library and to the awaiting books.

At lunch, the messenger joined them at the table but the Prince was conspicuously absent. One look at Ellen told him to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he saw her prepare a tray with food which she presumably delivered to the Prince in either his room or some other office.

After lunch though, when the messenger had been sent on his way, Sam was surprised that the Prince joined him in the library. Almost sheepishly, the Prince picked up a book and sat beside Sam on the couch.

"I thought that I'd help," the Prince said in explanation though Sam had not asked. "Before you got here, I, uh, went through a couple of books myself, but not many. Not enough. Never was that good at research."

The last was said in a self-deprecating tone that further confused Sam. That this beautiful, powerful, strong, confident man would at any time seem nervous or unsure, particularly in front of _Sam_ boggled the mind.

Sam attempted to say something reassuring. "Well, it's not everybody's thing, sir."

Somehow it seemed to do the trick. The Prince smiled and said, "Please, just call me Dean, no 'sirs' are needed unless there's a messenger here."

Sam smiled back, feeling like he had been accepted into the palace's little family. "Alright, Dean."

They read in silence for a while. Sam was just thinking how comfortable it was, to be with a man his own age doing what he so enjoyed, when Dean spoke again. "Do you miss home, your family?"

Sam thought he was beginning to understand why Dean only managed to get through a couple of the books. The Prince was too full of energy, too fidgety for research. Sam attempted to answer honestly. "I do miss them a little."

His response seemed to sadden the other man. "I'm sorry, I…I just needed your help."

To Sam it seemed an odd thing to say, odd that the Prince who could do anything without fear of censure should seem remorseful at taking Sam away from his home and family. He found himself wanting to reassure the other man again. "Don't be. Even though I miss them a little, I don't regret coming here. It's kind of like an adventure."

Dean looked at him with mischievous eyes. "An adventure, huh?"

They shared a smile then, enjoying each other's company, before Dean attempted to turn back to his book. It was Sam that couldn't keep quiet this time though.

"May I ask, why are we researching this demon?"

Sam could have kicked himself when his question caused Dean's countenance to darken, his eyes seeming wounded, filled with some unknown, unshared grief. The warmth was gone from Dean's voice when he replied, "It's for the King. Something I promised him."

Dean turned back to his book, and Sam couldn't help but notice how the man seemed to become more and more restless as the minutes passed. After only ten minutes, Dean was excusing himself, leaving the book back on the desk and rushing from the room without a backwards glance at Sam.

By dinner, everything seemed back to normal. They took the same places around the table. Dean seemed cheerful as he listened to Jo complain about the terrible task that was the doing the laundry. The Prince offered his deepest sympathies in a tone that was just barely mocking, certainly not enough for Jo to notice as she railed on.

When the meal had finished, Sam took the opportunity to heat pots of water for a bath. He still couldn't believe that his room had its own bathtub. He filled the tub partially with unheated water and then waited for the other water to boil. Dean had disappeared again and Jo too. Sam wouldn't be surprised if the girl was following Dean around.

He was surprised to find Henderson helping Ellen clean the kitchen, talking in low voices with eyes that lingered. It would seem that Jo wasn't the only one with a crush here.

The bath was exquisite, the bed as comfortable as it had been the previous night.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The next morning, after breakfast at which Sam didn't see anyone else, he settled down with the last book, the book that Dean had started the other day. Not coincidentally, Sam was sure, it was the shortest.

After lunch at which Dean appeared sweaty and red from some unknown exertion, Sam finished the book. Sam knew that Dean had only brought down a couple of books, not wanting to overload Sam right at first. Now he was conflicted about what to do. Sam didn't want to interrupt the Prince, didn't want to seem too forward by tracking the man down, but at the same time, Sam didn't want to just waste the rest of the day. It might just be busy-work but Dean had really emphasized getting the research done as soon as possible.

In the end, Sam spied Henderson working on the courtyard's garden outside and went to ask him. Henderson was pruning a rosebush, one that promised dozens of beautiful flowers soon as the summer reached its peak.

"Henderson, do you know where Dean is?"

Henderson barely spared the younger man a glance, saying over his shoulder, "In the stable."

Sam nodded and walked off. He didn't actually know where the stable was but he was sure to find it if he kept walking.

"Keep going straight and you'll get there!"

Sam turned to wave at the other man before continuing on his way with quicker, more confident steps.

It didn't surprise Sam to find Jo inside the stable as well. She was talking while Dean busily brushed the beautiful black horse that Sam had seen Dean ride before. What did surprise Sam was the excited smile that Dean shot him as he approached. And even more surprising the butterflies that stirred in his own belly at the sight.

Sam told himself not to be stupid and embarrass himself. Dean was probably just as glad to have another man about his age to talk to, grateful to Sam for his help on this _research_, nothing more.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean called out. Sam didn't even attempt to correct the man on the nickname, and not because Dean was the Prince. He simply beamed back and ignored the irritated face Jo made at being interrupted.

"Sam, meet Impala."

Sam moved to the front of the horse where Dean was, holding out a hand for the horse to sniff before petting her nose. Sam thought that it was unbearably cute that Dean treated his horse like a person, introducing Sam to her and acting as if he were nervous that they wouldn't get along.

"She's beautiful," Sam said. Dean's smile lit up the dark wooden structure then and he clapped the taller man on the back.

"That she is. You ride?"

"I _can_ ride, yes. Not like you though."

Dean's smile didn't falter. "No matter. You get tired of being indoors all the time and we should take a ride."

Sam was inexplicably moved by the offer. He looked at the other beautiful, expensive horses in the stable and felt unworthy even though he was already sleeping on a luxurious feather bed in the palace.

Jo spoke up before Sam could find his voice. "Hey, can I come?"

Dean looked down on her with a slightly patronizing look. "Sorry, Jo. You know how your mother feels about you riding in the woods, even with me. This trip will be just for us men."

Dean puffed out his chest then, emphasizing his point in a ridiculous way that Sam couldn't help laughing at. Dean deflated and chuckled too. Sam knew that he was big, tall and broad and muscular, but he had nothing on the deadly grace that Dean had. And yet the Prince still made fun, made light of his own abilities, his training and skills that he had surely worked hard for. He was a goofball despite that Sam could tell he took his responsibilities seriously; he took every opportunity to have a little fun.

"So, you up for it? Tomorrow? I'll go slow."

Sam couldn't refuse the other man, not when he seemed to be so looking forward to the outing. So with a smile he agreed. He almost forgot what it was he had come out here for.

"Oh, I came out here to tell you that I finished looking through the books that you gave me."

Dean's happy mood seemed to fizzle and Sam found himself wishing that he could learn how to keep the smile on Dean's face.

"Oh, ok. Let me just finish brushing her and I'll go get you some more. You didn't find anything?"

Dean was looking up at him with those beseeching eyes again. Sam hated to tell the man that he had found no mention of the demon Azazel.

Sam watched as a sobered Dean finished brushing down the beautiful black beast. He could tell that the Prince loved the animal, there was love in every stroke. Sam was so engrossed in watching the way Dean moved, lithe and graceful, muscles flexing in his forearms visible where the Prince had rolled the sleeves up, tight stockings not disguising powerful legs, that he forgot about Jo. But a small happy noise had him turning back to her, turning to see the same dreamy look on her face that he was sure had been on his own a moment ago.

With effort he tried not to watch that closely again. "How long have you had her?"

A slight smile re-appeared on Dean's full lips and Sam counted that as a victory. "Since she was a colt, she was born here. The King's horse was the sire."

And there was that darkening of Dean's features again. Sam was about to give up. There seemed to be no safe subject, every mention of the King seemed to upset the Prince, and everything seemed to involve the King somehow. It just made Sam more curious about what had happened to the man.

But shortly, Dean was finished with the horse and the three of them walked back to the house together. As they entered the kitchen, Ellen corralled Jo into actually doing some chores and Dean told Sam to wait in the library while he went upstairs. Dean returned with another armful of books and Sam sat down to work.

He couldn't help but notice when Dean went into the kitchen again. On the pretense of getting a cup of water, Sam decided to follow. He was once again surprised to find Dean heating his own buckets of water for a bath. Sam admitted that he had noticed the sheen of sweat to Dean's skin, particularly on Dean's chest visible in the untied v of his tunic.

Sam grabbed a cup and filled it with water from the pitcher. Casually, he offered, "Want some help carrying those upstairs?"

Dean smiled and accepted, so Sam sat down to wait with him. It was an excellent excuse to not only sit with Dean but also to see his room.

"So you just live with your father?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "My mother died in childbirth."

Dean nodded and Sam knew better than to ask after Dean's own mother's death.

"My dad's great though. He just doesn't understand my interest in reading these books."

Dean turned a cheeky grin on him then. "Well, it is kind of weird."

"Says you who owns books all kinds of books on the subject."

"Well, you know how it is." Dean tried to keep the smile on his face, but Sam could see that it had dimmed. "Gotta do what you gotta do."

Sam didn't understand to what Dean was referring but before he could ask, Dean was steering the conversation into safer waters. Well, safer for Dean.

"So, you got a girl back home?"

Sam knew that he was blushing fiercely, he could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. He ducked his head so that his hair fell forward as if he could hide behind his bangs. "No."

"A boyfriend?"

If possible Sam only blushed harder. "No." The single word answer was all that he could force out.

Dean seemed not to notice Sam's predicament. "Not a whole lot of prospects here as you can see."

Sam had to be imagining the questioning heat in Dean's gaze as he looked at Sam, waiting for a response.

When Sam still said nothing, Dean continued. "Well, you could always see if Jo's interested."

They both burst out laughing at that. And then the water was boiling so they grabbed rags to cover their hands with and carried the buckets upstairs.

Dean pushed the door to his room open. Jo had been right, this room was even larger than the one Sam slept in. But unlike Sam's room, the Prince's room was not bright and sunny. It was dark, dark green curtains shutting out the light, dark green bedding and couch, dark wood. He wondered whether Dean had chosen it to be this way or whether it was the fault of someone else.

Sam found himself flushing again as he poured the water into the bathtub. He certainly couldn't control his imagination, prevent it from imagining Dean stripping and getting in this water, the heat flushing the Prince's skin a rosy pink, the water flowing over hard muscles…

Collecting the empty buckets, Sam made a hasty exit.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The rest of the day passed without incident. Even though, Sam had a hard time looking at Dean during dinner.

Before Dean left the table though, he asked Sam, "So, we'll go for a ride tomorrow morning?"

Sam smirked and asked, "You think you can actually get up in the morning?"

Dean scowled, overly-done to show he was kidding. "I can get up in the morning. Being actually awake enough to function, now that's another story."

Sure enough, in the morning Sam had been up for hours, had breakfast and done some research before Dean came downstairs. Still it was before noon, at least, and Dean seemed just as excited to go as he had seemed when he had first suggested the ride.

Stepping into the library, Dean asked, "You ready?" He even clapped his hands together.

Looking down at the desk to hide his smile even as he stood, Sam replied, "You bet."

They walked quickly outside. Sam imagined that Dean would have been skipping like a little kid if it weren't for Sam walking behind him. The horses were waiting for them and it seemed as if Dean had been up longer than Sam had given the man credit for.

Henderson held the horses, already saddled with packs on their backs. Dean then introduced Sam to the horse that he would be riding, a heavier breed of horse named Ash. He was beautiful, chestnut in color. Sam thought that the horse was a good choice for him, a more muscular breed to support his extra weight, tall enough that his legs wouldn't drag on the ground and probably quite a bit slower than Dean's own steed.

The Prince even waited by his side as Sam put his foot in the stirrup and then clambered onto the horse. Dean had obviously been concerned that he would have to help the younger man and the thought made Sam flush with warmth that Dean cared. Once Sam was settled though, Dean hopped up into Impala's saddle like he was meant to be there.

Dean took it easy as they left the palace, moving slowly from a walk to a trot and then a canter. The day was beautiful, the sun shining brightly, filtering through the branches above them as they rode deeper in the forest. Dean took twists and turns, knowing all the trails around the castle by heart. Soon Sam couldn't have said whether they were miles from the castle or right outside it.

After a while though, Dean slowed the pace and led them into a clearing. Sam was confused when Dean dismounted, leading Impala over to a low hanging branch to tie her up. Sam quickly slid off his own horse and did the same.

Once the horses were tied, Dean grabbed the pack from Impala's back and strode out into the center of the clearing, where the sun created a warm patch of grass. Sam watched as the other man laid down a blanket and then unpacked some food.

Dean smiled back at Sam, his skin and hair shining golden in the sunlight, the freckles on his face more noticeable as if to prove that they were marks left by the sun's kisses.

"I packed lunch. It's about noon now."

"That's great. Thanks."

Sam felt giddy with happiness though he couldn't specifically say why. They sat down on the blanket to eat, but before long, both men were lying on their backs, soaking up the sunshine as they chewed on strips of jerky.

Then Dean was turning on his side towards his companion, resting his head on one hand as he spoke. "Do you believe in the supernatural, Sam?"

Sam was taken aback by the question. He turned his head from staring at the trees above to look at Dean, making sure that the other man wasn't making fun of him. Seeing that Dean's face was serious, Sam thought carefully about his answer, wanting to be truthful without seeming like an idiot.

"I…think that there's a good possibility. I mean, there are dozens of stories about ghosts, surely not all of those people were lying or mistaken."

Sam couldn't tell whether Dean was happy with his answer or not. Dean's face was pensive, as if considering what else to say.

Finally Dean spoke again. "What did your father tell you about the night that we met?"

Sam frowned at the seeming change in the direction of the conversation. His brow creased in confusion as he answered, "Uhh, well, Dad said that you saved him. That there was a grave robber in the cemetery that he passes by on the way back into the village."

Dean chuckled a little, rolling back over onto his back. Curious, Sam turned over onto his side, mirroring Dean's earlier posture so that he could see Dean's face.

"Why? What really happened?" Sam had known that his father wasn't telling the whole truth, Sam had just gotten distracted first by the fact that his father had been attacked, and then by the fact that the Prince had asked for him.

Dean looked over at Sam's face, and then away, looking at his own hands fiddling with a piece of grass as he spoke.

"It was a ghost. I saved him from a ghost."

Sam gasped. It couldn't…how did…

"What?"

Dean sighed. "Your father came across me in the cemetery trying to get rid of the thing. The ghost attacked your father, but I managed to draw it away and then destroy it, permanently."

"How did you…?"

"The spirit, that of a woman, was vengeful. She blamed her husband's family for her death and had already managed to kill a cousin and a niece."

"How did you know?"

Dean shrugged as much as he could lying on his back. "I collect information about any suspicious deaths. The victims had both fallen down the same flight of stairs. It could have been an accident, but I decided to investigate."

"What did you do?"

"That was easy. To get rid of a spirit, you only need to dig up their body and then salt and burn their remains. Iron will dissipate the spirit for a moment, that's how I got it away from your father…"

Sam choked on his own saliva. "How did you know what to do?" he asked, cutting Dean off.

"Oh, uh…" suddenly Dean was again withdrawn, the enthusiasm he had portrayed when talking about the hunting of a spirit disappearing. "The King taught me. We've been…hunting the supernatural since I was a kid."

Sam was stunned, his mind blank. In that blankness the only thing that he could make sense of was the fact that again Dean had called his father by his title, as if the man had been more Dean's superior than his father.

"What other things exist?"

"Lots of things exist. Ghosts, poltergeists…"

"Demons? Is that why we're researching Azazel? You promised your father you'd destroy the demon?"

Dean's face had gone from withdrawn to hard as stone at Sam's questions. Sam wanted to break that mask that Dean wore, that mask of cold complacency that Dean wore when asked about his life's tragedies, the cheerful mask of distraction that Dean wore around Jo and the other servants. Where was the real Dean under all that?

"Yes," Dean replied succinctly.

"Won't it be dangerous?" Sam asked.

"Of course," Dean said, standing up and going over to the horses. He held Ash by the reins, motioning Sam to climb on.

The ride back to the castle was much shorter. Sam couldn't talk on the ride, but as soon as they entered the courtyard, he opened his mouth. He hadn't meant to upset Dean. He didn't want to do anything to hurt this fragile bond that was developing between them. Dean was more of a friend than Sam had ever had, even if the man was the Prince, was moody and secretive.

"Dean, I..."

But once again Dean cut off his words. "Sam, get cleaned up and go back to the library. There's research to be done."

Sam could only nod, meekly saying, "Yes, sir."

Sam had recognized Dean's words for the order that they were. Dean had used their different positions to avoid talking, had hid behind his position of authority. And Sam could not disobey, though he scowled as he slid from his horse and stamped back inside, leaving the horses to Dean and Henderson.

Henderson sighed as he watched Sam stomp away. "What'd the kid do?"

It was Dean's turn to scowl as he dismounted and led Impala towards the stable. "Nothing."

"Oh, come now. Anyone could see that you two are both in a huff and I know you better than most. It's obvious that you two are becoming close. Sam has only been here a few days and you've spoken to him more than you normally speak to anyone."

"So, what of it?" Dean asked petulantly.

"Nothing. It's a good thing. You've been shut up in this castle with nothing but me and two women for far too long." Henderson paused, knowing that he was entering dangerous territory by questioning the King's decision to hide both himself and his son away from the world. The boy hadn't left the castle for years except to go who knew where in full armor, occasionally returning bruised and bloody.

"You're going to have to open up to him though, if you want to keep him."

Dean shook his head. "I've already told him too much." Dean did want to keep Sam. He wanted the tall, lanky brunette as a friend…and more if he were honest with himself. But it couldn't be. Dean was cursed, his whole family was. Everyone that Dean loved ended up hurt or dead, a sacrifice to the supernatural that had taken over his father's life since his mother's death.

Dean had been running the kingdom since well before his father disappeared from the public eye. His father had only one thought in his head, to kill the thing that had killed his wife, the Queen. His quest for vengeance was sure to end the King's life and, probably take his son down as well.

But Dean was loyal, even when his father wasn't there to order him about. He kept hunting, kept saving people from things that weren't supposed to exist. Dean well admitted that he wasn't a saint. He was lustful, occasionally leaving the castle only to change out of the armor and go into towns to pick up a willing partner to have sex with in an inn. He was gluttonous, loving food and drink. He was angry and quick-tempered. He lied to everyone around him, to the people of the kingdom that he was meant to safeguard. But he knew that he was doing good work every time that he saved even one person from the supernatural.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

After a cursory cleanup with a pitcher of water in his room, Sam spent the rest of the day in the library. He convinced himself that Dean would appreciate his productiveness and that it would help Sam get back into the other man's good graces.

Dinner was uneventful. Sam found himself trying to catch Dean's eyes despite himself, but it turned out to be an easy task. Dean shot him an amused glance as he teased Jo about something or other. Sam didn't know because he wasn't listening, too afraid was he that Dean was still angry with him.

Sam returned to the library after dinner with a lighter heart, despite that Dean had disappeared again. He was getting used to the other man's secretive manner, he supposed and he wasn't taking it personally. It was just the way Dean was.

After another restful night's sleep, Sam was back again in the library with another book. He was reading merrily along when he came across a reference to the demon he had been searching for.

The passage said that the demon was susceptible to dogwood. Sam didn't know whether to be happy or sad at finding the answer. What if the Prince really did send him away with the task done?

In the end though, Sam had to go relay the news. He went into the kitchen where he found Henderson sitting at the table, watching Ellen cut the vegetables for dinner.

"Excuse my interruption, but would either of you know where the Prince is right now?"

Ellen looked to Henderson, who took his eyes off Ellen's backside for only a second, long enough to look Sam in the eyes and reply, "He's in the training area behind the stable."

Sam had no idea what the 'training area' was but at least he knew where the stable was so he didn't ask, just headed that way.

Sam was stunned when he happened upon the Prince. Dean was…exercising? The man was performing a complicated series of moves, almost a dance while holding a dagger in his right hand. He lunged and blocked, pivoted and jabbed, the sun glinting off of the knife's blade.

Watching avidly, Sam saw the Prince move with strength and flexibility, with certainty of movement, with deadly intent. It was long moments before Dean finished, breathing harshly and throwing the dagger to stick in the trunk of a nearby tree.

"You're staring, Sam."

"I know, I'm just…wow. You're good at that."

Dean stood there chuckling, and Sam couldn't decide whether the sound held a note of self-deprecation in it. "I ought to be, I've been practicing forever it seems. You've got to be prepared when you go after these things."

Sam was still stunned that supernatural things existed, the things that he had read about all his life. And Dean hunted them. It was simply amazing.

But it seemed Dean had warmed to the subject. He strode over to the knife that he had previously embedded in the tree trunk and pulled it free.

"See, this knife is made of silver. It's poisonous to werewolves among other things."

"Werewolves exist?"

"Yep, not very common though. Last time I hunted one, I was…sixteen I think."

Sam was flabbergasted. "I can't believe my Dad lied to me."

Dean moved closer then, putting a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "You can't think of it like that. Most likely he'd talked himself into believing that there had been no ghost by the time he got home. I've seen it before."

Sam shook his head, knowing that his father had probably kept the truth from him in some misguided attempt to protect Sam.

"Hey, would you like to learn something?"

Dean's voice broke through Sam's frustrated thoughts. Sam looked at the other man uncertainly. Being huge and gangly, Sam didn't trust himself with a sharp object and he couldn't imagine why Dean would trust him with one.

But Dean just laughed at the younger man's expression and moved closer. "Come on. Here, hold the dagger."

Sam looked down at the dagger that Dean was holding out to him, handle first. Awkwardly, he gripped it, curling his fingers around the handle in the manner that he was used to when he cooked.

He wasn't surprised when Dean laughed at him again and reached out for the dagger. Still, it had made Dean laugh and for that, Sam would gladly play the fool.

But Dean didn't take the dagger away. Instead his elegant hand gripped Sam's own. Dean's hand was warm and rough with calluses, more like his own than Sam would have thought.

"Hold it like this." Dean's voice was gentle as he maneuvered Sam's huge paw into the right position around the delicate seeming handle. "That's it."

Sam was positive that his face was as red as the reddest rose. Fortunately Dean was off to his side and moving around behind Sam.

"Bend your knees," the command came from behind his right shoulder. Sam complied, though he almost jerked away when doing so caused his body to come into direct contact with Dean's own.

"Whoa, that's it. This is a fight stance. With your knees bent like this, you're prepared to react when your opponent makes his first move."

Sam managed a nod that was more like a violent jerk of his head forward. They were aligned front to back from chest to knee. Dean's chest was warm and damp with sweat and pressed against Sam's back. But the worst of it was that Dean's thighs were beneath Sam's own, Sam's ass firmly pressed against Dean's groin. Sam couldn't decide whether he was thankful or disappointed that the other man wasn't hard.

"Ok, now step forward with your right foot, into a lunge. There, with your right knee bent and your back leg straight…move your front foot out farther and extend your right arm with the dagger. Great!"

With that last word of praise, Dean moved out from behind Sam. Sam was grateful because even if Dean didn't have a problem, Sam had definitely been about to have one. If Dean thought that he was actually learning anything like this, the Prince was mistaken.

"Ok, go back to the fighting stance."

Sam didn't understand for a minute, but then he reluctantly moved back into the crouch.

"And lunge. Good, that's good."

Sam felt like a fool. He was a peasant, what was he doing learning how to fight. But Dean seemed to accept him despite his lowly birth. They were so different it was kind of amazing that they got along so well.

Sam went from the crouch to the lunge a couple times before Dean smiled and clapped him on the back, taking the dagger back.

"Pretty good."

"No, not really."

"Come on, Sam. You just need practice like anybody does."

"Your father taught you?"

Asking about the King wasn't an accident that time. Sam willingly stepped across the boundary that Dean kept around himself and he wasn't going to let Dean walk away this time.

Dean just answered the question, "Yes." Simple and easy, but he was already turning away from Sam, slipping the dagger into its sheath and then into an empty slot in a roll of cloth.

"How did he know how to fight the supernatural?"

Dean didn't reply, simply rolled up the cloth and turned back towards the castle. He didn't look at Sam as he said, "I assume that you came out here for more than idle conversation and a trip down memory lane?"

Dean had already begun walking away, but Sam wasn't going to let him avoid the subject. If he were going to leave the palace anyway for finding the answer, then he was going to put it all on the line.

He grabbed the hand that Dean was holding the bundle with, pulling Dean back around and closer. Sam's other arm went around Dean's waist.

Dean's face was stunned, waffling between outrage and respect. Sam didn't let Dean decide on one before he was speaking again.

"Dean, I just want to get to know you. You seem like a great guy, funny and talented, and you _hunt_ the _supernatural_. You've seen things that I've spent my whole life reading about. But what I'm really fascinated by is you."

Dean was stunned, still caught by the other man's long arms. His face had softened with Sam's plea and Sam just wanted to pull the other man close, feel that body against his own again.

"I…my mom," Dean's voice sounded wrecked, small and scared like the little boy he had been the last time that he had had a 'mom'.

Sam knew that this wasn't going to be a happy story and so he pulled the other man over to some nearby trees. "Let's sit down."

Dean let himself be led over to them and then pushed to sit down. Sam kept a hand on Dean's arm but released the arm that had encircled the other man's waist.

"What happened to her?"

"She went down to the servants' quarters that night. A servant's baby was six months old and she had woven a blanket for him. There was a fire inside the baby's room, the baby survived but…The servant said she had seen something when she had run in to grab her infant, she said it was a demon with yellow eyes."

"She was certain?"

"She said that it looked like a tall, broad man, nude with red scaled skin and horns coming out of its head, from that description we were pretty sure it was a demon. The King didn't believe her at first, but then…he wanted to blame someone. So he found a psychic who taught him about the supernatural, about all the things out there in the dark that prey on the unaware, the innocent. It took us a long time but we finally caught up with the yellow-eyed demon. But it has always eluded our attempts to banish it back to hell."

"And along the way, you destroy other supernatural creatures."

Dean nodded. "We bought books and weapons in secret. We trained hard so that we could destroy every supernatural creature that hurt a single person in our kingdom."

"Dean, what happened to the King?"

Dean shook his head emphatically. "No, Sam, I can't. I can't tell anyone."

And there were those beseeching eyes again, bright green eyes shining with moisture, even as Sam could tell Dean was trying to make them implacably hard again, as Dean tried to re-erect that mask that he hid behind.

Sam nodded, he rubbed Dean's arm and then he stood, offering a hand to Dean. To Sam's surprise, Dean accepted the hand and allowed Sam to pull him off the hard ground. After that, Sam decided to take a chance and he pulled Dean into a tight embrace. Dean hesitated, but only for a second before he relaxed into the hold, brought his own arms up to wrap around the larger man.

When they broke apart they were both blushing a little, both excited at the contact as well as comforted. Dean's hand went to the back of his head again, while Sam hunched his shoulders as if he could seem smaller. He kept his face averted as he spoke into the silence that had become awkward.

"Come on. I'll show you what I found."

Dean nodded, grateful to have something else to focus on. They walked back to the castle in silence that was companionable after Sam's foot hit a rock and he bumped into Dean's shoulder. The tension broke then as they smiled at Sam's clumsiness.

They walked in through the kitchen door as usual, both feeling sticky with sweat as the heat from the cooking fire reached them. Sam led the way into the library, picking up the large tome that he had found the reference to Azazel in and handing it to Dean.

"I found something about the demon. It says that dogwood will destroy him."

Dean had been in the middle of trying to read the page that the book was open to when Sam's words filtered into his consciousness.

"Dammit," he cursed, dropping the book back onto the desk before dropping himself onto the nearby couch.

Sam moved to him immediately. "What? Is it…?"

"It's wrong. The book is wrong. We already tried that. The King and I, we made arrows and spears and stakes of the stuff and none of it even fazed the bastard."

"Oh," Sam's enthusiasm deflated and he dropped onto the couch beside the other man. Before he had been uncertain about showing his discovery to the other man, afraid to have found the answer, but now, seeing how defeated Dean looked, Sam couldn't help but feel miserable himself that he hadn't.

And, feeling miserable, he couldn't help but ask, "Is it really just revenge? All this, the research, the secrets, the isolation, the risking your life…it's all for vengeance?"

Sam looked over, but he never saw what expression his words elicited on Dean's face. Dean ran from the room with impressive speed.

Sam cursed his own inability to keep his mouth shut, not for the first time. Dean was just such a conundrum. He seemed to love people, to love Ellen and Jo and even Henderson. He seemed excited to talk about the hunting of the supernatural, seemed proud to have saved people. But Dean refused to talk about his own parents, kept himself separate, not only from the castle servants but also from the rest of the world. It just seemed odd to Sam that Dean who had such zeal for life would do all this for a woman who was long gone.

Sam went back to reading through the tomes. This time he actually did want to find the answer and so searched diligently.

But the books had lost some of the interest that they had held for Sam. Sam found himself thinking for the first time that perhaps knowledge didn't mean anything unless it served some purpose. He thought that friends and family were more important than anything he could find in those bound pieces of paper.

He read now to help Dean, a person that Sam cared for instead of for reading's own sake.

Eventually a subdued Jo called him to dinner. Sam entered the kitchen to find that everyone was subdued, that none of the usual chatter was occurring and he quickly discerned why. Ellen was assembling a tray. The Prince was not eating with them.

Henderson looked at him with knowing eyes as Sam took his seat. No one mentioned the Prince's absence or asked Sam about its cause.

Sam read until late in the night by candlelight, wanting to find the answer to placate the man that he had grown to care for. Eventually though, he went upstairs to his room and fell into an exhausted slumber.

The next morning Sam rose later than normal but still not late. He plodded downstairs with a heavy heart wondering how long the Prince would avoid him. Sam was almost finished with his breakfast by the time he heard it, the heavy metal thud of armor.

Sam jumped up without thinking, ready to run toward the sound, but then he realized the sound was coming towards him. Dean in full armor entered the kitchen, carrying his helmet. The Prince strode past and went outside where Henderson was waiting with Impala.

Hurrying afterward, Sam grabbed Dean's metal-encased arm. Dean turned irritated eyes on the other man, but didn't pull his arm back. Sam looked at Henderson standing so close and pulled Dean away a little.

"Dean, what's going on?"

Finally Dean was drawing his arm away from Sam's grasping hand. "I did some research last night too. I'm almost positive that there's a poltergeist near Wichita."

"But it's dangerous."

Dean's look was patronizing then as he said, "Yes, we've already been over this."

But it was just sinking in for Sam. Dean was going to go off, alone, to fight something not human, something with supernatural powers. Dean could be seriously injured. Dean might not come back at all.

"Let me come with you."

Dean's answer was immediate and implacable. "No, as you said, it's dangerous. You haven't had the training I've had."

"But I…" Sam wanted to say that he wanted to be there for Dean, but he knew how silly that sounded. He had no skills that would be of use to Dean. But Sam didn't want to leave things as they were between himself and Dean, he didn't want to lose Dean, didn't want to lose the potential that there was between the two men.

So he shut his mouth and then shut Dean's, pressing his lips over Dean's perfectly plump ones. Dean startled, almost pulling away, but Sam's large hands were there, cupping Dean's face and preventing Dean from pulling away. As before, Dean subsided, gave himself up to the kiss then as he had the hug.

It wasn't a perfect kiss, it was a shock, rushed and confused, but the look on Dean's face when they parted, that soft look of happiness and wonder, that made it as close to perfect as Sam could imagine.

"I didn't want to never have done that."

Dean's cheeky smirk was back as he responded, "And if I make it back?"

Sam pulled Dean in for another kiss, mouths slotting together easier this time. "There might be more where that came from."

Dean laughed, full and genuine at Sam's attempt to tease him. "I'm counting on it," he said as he slipped the helmet on.

Sam watched as Dean swung himself up into the saddle like he wasn't wearing the extra weight of armor. And then Dean was off without a backwards glance.


	3. Chapter 3

For the rest of the day, Sam was torn between feeling giddy with happiness and anticipation, and terrified dread. He tried to tell himself that Dean was well trained, that he had lots of experience with these dangerous situations, but he couldn't drown out the voice that said that for most of that experience Dean had hunted with the King. Dean might be too used to having a partner, having someone to watch his back.

Sam tried to continue reading, wanting to have something to show for the time that Dean was away, but he couldn't concentrate on anything it seemed. He was staring off into space, his mind like a runaway horse-carriage imagining one scenario after another that led to Dean's death, when Jo startled him out of his seat.

Jo's manner was clipped as she informed him that lunch was on the table. Sam supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised. He had kissed Dean in full view of anyone who was looking. Whether the girl had had any chance with the Prince didn't actually matter. Until Sam had come, there had been no one else to distract Dean's attention from her.

Sam entered the kitchen to see two other faces that were smug as they watched him enter. He knew that he looked frazzled and nerve-wracked, and he was beginning to wonder exactly how much Ellen and Henrickson actually knew about what went on in the castle.

"So, loverboy," Henrickson began as soon as Sam was seated and served. "That was quite the display earlier, a very romantic send off for your valiant knight."

Ellen started to snicker into her stew, and Sam felt completely mortified, dropping his eyes to the tabletop as his face heated. He could hear Jo shifting in her seat, obviously uncomfortable as well.

Finally, Sam managed to say something in his defense, "I didn't mean it like _that_. I just…"

"Now, no need to explain, dear. It was very sweet. I think that Dean needs someone like you."

That got Sam to look up. "What do you mean someone like me?"

"Nothing, just that you obviously care for him and he obviously cares for you. You've been able to get him to open up more than he has in years."

Sam couldn't help a little smile breaking out on his face at her comments. Jo finished her lunch quickly and excused herself to Ellen's obvious irritation.

Sam headed back to the library, dinner, and then bed in a daze. He couldn't even sleep. He had no idea when Dean usually got back, could only imagine that most of the 'action' took place at night and thus Dean wouldn't be back til morning. Maybe it would even take more than one day. But still Sam lay in that perfectly comfortable bed, listening for the sound of the bell outside the gate that would signal Dean's return in one piece.

The next day Sam headed down for breakfast more miserable than the day before if possible. As he sat at the table, he debated eating at all. That's when he heard it. The bell.

For a moment, he was so relieved, his strength left him. His legs felt limp and unable to support his weight if he attempted to stand. He made it to the outside door to see Dean, off his horse, striding towards the castle as he removed his helmet. And he seemed unharmed.

Sam let Dean come to him, seeing as he was still holding onto the door for support. Dean had a big, satisfied grin on his face.

"What, no big kiss hello? You only like me when I'm striding into danger?"

Sam was conflicted about whether he would rather hit or kiss the other man, but the decision was taken out of his hands when Dean reached for him and gave him a quick kiss. A kiss far too quick, Sam thought, considering what he had been through since Dean had left.

Dean moved past Sam into the kitchen, inclining his head in greeting to Ellen and Jo who had gathered there. Jo took one look at him and bolted from the room. Dean only sighed in response.

Ellen too looked regretful about the situation but both knew that there was nothing to be done about it. Jo would have had to get over her little crush eventually.

Sam followed after Dean as he went into the front room. Dean was so tired that it took him a moment to realize that the younger man was following him.

"I'm just going to go take this armor off and take a bath, maybe a nap."

"Need some help?"

Dean looked at Sam with an apologetic smile. He knew that Sam was attracted to him, but he didn't want to rush into this. Sam was partially reacting to Dean being in danger. "I don't think so this time. But after I've bathed, I'll meet you in the library?"

Sam nodded, half grateful that Dean had refused his offer and half disappointed. He didn't know what he was ready for, he only knew that he wanted to be near the other man.

Ellen walked past then, carrying buckets of hot water. With a last smile, Dean clanked his way upstairs.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

An hour or two later, during which Sam had mostly contemplated exactly what he had previously offered instead of read, Dean entered the library.

Sam jumped up to meet him, grabbing the smaller man and pulling him in for another, more thorough kiss. Dean responded right from the beginning and carefully took control of the kiss, slowing Sam's frantic pace, gentling Sam's desperation. Soon the kiss was perfect, slick mouths slotting together naturally. Dean ran his tongue along Sam's bottom lip, surprised when Sam sucked his tongue in with fervor.

Sam had one hand on Dean's lower back keeping them pressed together, but Dean put his hands on Sam's chest and after a good, long moment, he pushed the taller man away.

"Sam, I know you're all eager and virginal and everything, but make sure that you want this."

Sam's quick answer, "I do," made Dean smile. But he couldn't let it go at that.

"Are you sure? I'm not an easy person to get along with, and I won't be able to tell you everything."

Sam smiled big and broad, his dimples coming out in full force. He knew absolutely that he wanted this man in front of him, Dean, the Prince. His answer was pulling Dean back to him for another kiss.

This time when Dean pulled away it was for a jaw-popping yawn.

"Sorry, long night last night. I didn't get any sleep."

Sam couldn't help running a hand down the side of Dean's beautiful face, reveling in the privilege to touch when he wanted to. He grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him over to sit on the couch. "Tell me about it?" he asked shyly.

Dean smiled and settled himself back against the couch and Sam's side. He told the story with obvious pride and satisfaction at what he had accomplished.

And so the relationship between the hunter and the bookworm began. They took things slowly. Sam still spent most of his time in the library reading through tome after tome, but Dean would come in occasionally and tell Sam stories of supernatural creatures that he had fought. Sometimes he would bring in magical objects, telling Sam what they did and how they were acquired.

Dean showed Sam a rabbit's foot that brought luck while you had it, but once you lost it, you experienced bad luck that eventually led to your death. He showed Sam a glass pumpkin that Dean said could be transformed into a carriage. He showed Sam different charms that would call supernatural creatures or protect you from supernatural creatures.

Sometimes Dean would take him riding and they would stop in the same clearing as before. They would picnic and lay on their backs and talk. They spent a lot of time making out there, the long lengths of their bodies pressed tightly together, their arousal evident. But neither of them made a move to do something about it. Sam still blushed knowing that his erection was visible to Dean so the older man figured that Sam wasn't ready.

Jo wasn't happy with the developments as she clearly showed every time they sat down to take a meal together. Ellen didn't help since she seemed to be only too happy to see Sam and Dean together and delighted in teasing the two men and making them blush.

Dean tried to make it up to the younger girl, trying to pay particular attention to her during meals. He asked after her new dress, offered to buy her other things, listened intently when she complained about chores. Most of the time it worked and Jo would flirt as before, but if Sam and Dean even shared a glance, it would set her off sulking again.

Dean still spent time by himself, doing Sam didn't know what, still went into the west wing and wouldn't talk about his father. But no matter what they had done during the day whether they had spent lots of time together that day or none at all, Dean would join Sam on the couch in the library after dinner and they would talk and kiss.

It had been going on two weeks, two weeks in which Sam had forgotten that anything bad could befall them. He was sitting in the library that morning when he heard the now-hated sound of clanking armor against the stone steps. Standing, he rushed out in the front room.

"Dean, what are you…?"

Dean looked at the younger man with apologetic eyes, but didn't answer. They both knew exactly why Dean would be wearing armor.

"You didn't tell me," Sam accused. "What is it?"

Dean sighed. "I didn't want to worry you. It's nothing. I'll be fine. You'll see."

"Don't do that. What is it?"

Dean couldn't even look him in the eyes when he finally answered. "It's a werewolf."

Though Dean didn't look up, he saw from Sam's body that the man flinched upon hearing his answer. He saw Sam clench his hands into fists down at his sides. But what could he say? He had to go. He had warned Sam.

When he finally did look up, it was to see a fierce, determined expression on Sam's face. "Ok. You're going to go no matter what I say." And to be honest, Sam didn't want to deprive the other man of something that obviously brought the man satisfaction and seemed to be tied to Dean's conception of his self-worth.

"But you are going to come back, you hear me? And when you do, you're going to start training me. I want to come with you. I want to be there for you."

Dean's breath hitched, but it didn't matter because Sam was drawing him, armor and all, into an embrace. For the first time since his mother's death, Dean felt safe, wanted, cared for as he was wrapped in strong arms. He still had a job to do and it would no doubt be dangerous, but he had something to come home.

Dean turned his head, his mouth finding Sam's own and neither cared about the 'romantic sendoff' that they had been teased about before.

Dean took a moment to catch his breath, leaning his head on Sam's shoulder and Sam took the opportunity to lean down and speak into the other man's ear.

"And if that's not enough encouragement, I will _definitely_ be spending the night in your bed when you get back."

Dean lifted his head and saw that the statement was serious in Sam's earnest expression. Dean's face broke into a smile, that big smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes and was brighter than the sun. "Is this going to become a habit? Teasing me before a job? Because if it is, I'm not sure you can come. It'll be too distracting."

Sam laughed. He would have punched Dean except that it would only be his own hand that would get hurt on that armor. He settled instead for palming Dean's face, bringing their lips together for one more kiss.

Both of their eyes were amused but serious as they parted and then Dean walked away. Sam didn't follow this time. Instead he went back to the library and began to worry and wait.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

It was five days in all. Five days in which Sam wandered around the castle like a ghost. None of the other servants were much better. Sam figured that even if they didn't know the exact nature of Dean's excursions, they knew that they were dangerous and so they were all worried, all quiet at mealtimes.

It was past lunch when the bell finally rang on the fifth day. Sam raced out the door, right behind Henrickson.

He was thankful to see that Dean still swung off his steed with grace, but as the Prince walked toward the castle, Sam could see that Dean was limping. Sam ran over to the injured man, trying to grip Dean's armored arm to help him, but Dean just shrugged him off.

Removing the helmet, the first words out of Dean's mouth were, "I'm alright. It's nothing, just a scratch. It got my leg in the armor's joint."

Sam barely heard the words because what he saw when the helmet was removed was Dean's cheek, bruised. His hand went up automatically to brush against the multi-colored skin.

"And I hit my head, ok?"

This time Sam didn't offer to help, he simply followed Dean up the stairs and into the dark green room. Ellen and Jo were up shortly with the hot water.

"Can I help?" Sam asked, but he should have known that Dean would be too stubborn.

"I got it." And Dean did. He removed the armor carefully, setting it aside to clean later. The tunic and tights underneath were sweaty and dirty and Sam could clearly see the wound and dried blood on the right leg.

"Do you need help in the bath?"

"No, no. I'll be out in a minute."

Sam waited as Dean moved into the bathroom. He was alone in Dean's room but as he looked around there didn't seem to be anything personal to it. The supernatural books were apparently kept somewhere else. Dean's weapons were housed in the armory where Dean's armor would be returned to later. There was nothing in it of any interest, no letters, no portraits, no decoration at all.

He had pulled back the comforter and was sitting on the plush bed when Dean returned wearing a thin robe. "Do you need something for your leg?"

"I fixed it up in the bathroom."

Dean grimaced as he clambered onto the bed beside Sam. Though clean, Sam could still see dark smudges underneath Dean's eyes showing his fatigue.

"I should let you rest," Sam said quietly.

"No," Dean's voice was equally quiet. "Stay with me." With those words, Dean was pulling Sam down with him by the shoulder.

They lay on their sides facing one another. Dean's bruised right cheek was up and Sam's hand went there again. Dean caught it and brought it to his lips. He looked at Sam with happiness in his eyes as he dropped Sam's hand in favor of gripping the back of Sam's head, pulling them together for their first kiss since he had returned.

The kiss was easy, relief and contentment and delight passing between them. When Dean deepened the kiss, licking inside Sam's mouth, his hand also moved over the muscles in Sam's chest. Slowly that hand moved down towards Sam's now insistent erection.

Pulling back, Sam caught the wandering hand. "Aren't you tired?"

"Not too tired for this. If you're not ready, Sam, it's ok. We can just take a nap."

Sam was ready. He wanted Dean, wanting to feel naked skin against his own, instead of the feel of his own hand alone at night in his bed with thoughts of naked skin. And napping curled up with Dean, naked, after sex sounded even better.

"I do want to. Now if you're up for it."

Dean smirked. Sam chuckled, saying, "You know what I mean."

When they kissed again, Dean's hands went immediately to Sam's waist, unknotting the leather belt he wore and then pushing at the tunic.

"Off," Dean gasped. Sam immediately complied, and then actually moaned as he felt the first touch of calloused hands on his skin. He wanted Dean naked now.

Moving on instinct, the instinct to get as close to the other man as possible, Sam rolled on top of Dean. The robe Dean was wearing easily parted for his hands, revealing Dean's nude body to his greedy eyes.

Sam gasped, he couldn't help himself at the sight of pale skin and hard muscles, at the sight of dark wiry hair and a blood-filled cock, so similar and yet so different from his own. And then there were the scars, some were tiny, some long, some faded, some still red and angry, Sam's hands began to trace them, a history of Dean's life printed indelibly on skin.

And there would be one more mark, the deep slash to Dean's thigh now visible as was the thread that Dean had closed it with. As Sam moved further down on Dean's body, Dean sat up, shrugging the robe off his shoulders and pulling Sam in for a heated kiss, a kiss that rekindled their ardor.

But it was quick, only a moment before Dean pulling back to say, "Sam, pants."

Sam grinned at Dean's impatience and quickly rolled off to Dean's side, lying on his back to shimmy out of his own tights. Dean rolled to his side, to watch. He wanted to climb on top of that lean length of olive skin, but he didn't want to reopen his leg wound by kneeling over Sam. Blood was not conducive to the atmosphere of making love.

But he needn't have worried because Sam was rolling back on top of him, eager as ever. "God, Dean," Sam groaned as Dean parted his legs, letting Sam's body slip between them, their dicks then coming into heated contact.

Again, Sam was running on instinct, undulating his long body against Dean's, thrusting against the smooth skin of Dean's hip and loving the feel of Dean's own cock against his belly. Their bodies fit together as easily as their lips, slick with sweat and saliva.

"Ungh, Dean, what do I do? God, I want you…"

It took a moment for Dean to concentrate enough to tell Sam. "Get the…there's a jar in the drawer of the bedside table there."

Reluctantly, Sam moved away from Dean's writhing form to reach the drawer. He sat back on his heels, his attention torn between Dean's heaving chest beneath him and the contents of the jar, a salve of some kind.

"Put some on your fingers, yeah, the fingers of one hand." Then Dean guided the hand between his legs where they were spread with his feet planted on the bed, back behind his balls to his entrance.

"Push one in, ahhh," Dean moaned as Sam was quick to follow instructions. Sam watched as Dean tossed his head to the side on the pillow, his body already moving to take more of his finger in, undulating in pleasure.

"My God," Sam breathed out, taken aback at the sight before him. "My cock is going in there?"

Dean's voice was thin and gruff when he answered, "Yes."

"But it's so tight." Sam's voice held his awe.

"That's why your fingers stretch it first. Crook your finger forward a little bit, like that…" Dean broke off with an inarticulate, animalistic sound somewhere between agony and ecstasy.

"What? Did I…"

"Good, you're good. There's a spot inside that feels amazing when you…"

But a wicked grin had taken over Sam's face as understanding dawned, and he crooked his finger again, keeping the pressure against that spot as Dean whined and cried out and thrashed. Sam watched fascinated as Dean's cock turned maroon in color and leaked pearlescent drops of fluid that slowly made their way down his shaft.

"Stop, ngh, stop or I'm going to cum before we get anywhere," Dean's voice was wrecked as he spoke.

Sam didn't stop grinning but he did stop pressing on _that _spot. Very useful information that, he thought. He added the second finger, and Dean returned to panting and moaning.

It wasn't long before Dean was attempting to form words again though. "I'm ready. T-take your fingers out, and…and put some of that salve on your dick."

Sam coated himself before looking back to Dean's face. "Come here," Dean said, motioning for Sam to lean over him. Dean spread his legs farther, drawing his legs up some.

"Here," Dean guided Sam's own fingers to his erection. "Press it in."

Sam did as instructed, lining his erection up with the tiny slick entrance and pressing inside slowly. It took a moment and a little force but then the head was popping through the resistance to be squeezed in the moist heat inside Dean.

Sam let his head drop onto Dean's collar bone even as Dean's head fell back on the pillow. It was impossible to say who made the loudest sound at that moment. But then Dean's legs were surrounding his waist, Dean's hands were on his back, one moving down to his ass, pulling Sam in.

"God, keep going," Dean's words were simply a breath of exhaled air. Sam couldn't reply at all, his chest heaved like he was dying, the feeling was so huge, Dean's body sucking him in…

It was all instinctual from there, Sam pulling out and thrusting back in hard, both men crying out, rutting like animals, grasping at each other with their whole bodies, green eyes met hazel and both were lost in the intensity they found.

Sam came first, unable to resist the tight heat, the friction. His back arched as he groaned low one last time, his thrusts losing their rhythm and becoming short and fast. He came back to his senses to see Dean's hand stripping his cock fast as he gasped for air.

Sam's hand came up to join in. The rhythm faltered for a moment before Sam got the hang of the different angle, of how Dean liked it. Then Dean was gasping, his mouth open as were his eyes, until that moment when Dean had to close them, press his head back harder into the pillow, his face tightening into an almost grimace as warmth spilled over their joined hands.

Collapsing onto his side on the bed, Sam watched as Dean's breathing became slower, closer to normal. He ran his hand over Dean's slick chest, his release, unable to get enough of looking and touching and tasting as Sam leaned over to suck on the vulnerable skin of Dean's neck above his collarbone.

He pulled away to see green smiling eyes looking at him. Dean's chest still heaved as he caught Sam's hand, entangling their fingers and holding it still on his belly. Sam moved closer, sharing heat even as they cooled, until he was forced to take his hand away and reach down for the blankets.

Dean lay on his back and Sam snuggled up to his side as they drifted off into a well-deserved rest.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Sam woke to the feel of a damp cloth being run over the skin of his belly, cleaning away the dried remains of his earlier release.

"Hey, you should be taking it easy, not walking around everywhere." Sam reprimanded.

Dean scowled in response. "It's just a scratch. I'm not an invalid."

"That's a mighty deep scratch."

Dean shrugged, then changed the subject. "You hungry? It's just past dinner time, so Ellen will probably be in the kitchen with the leftovers."

Oh God, Sam thought. They'll know, they'll all know that he had had sex with Dean, with the Prince.

Dean chuckled, apparently aware of the thoughts that had Sam hiding his face in the pillow. "You're going to have to face them eventually, and, yes, they will probably tease you. Come on, stud. Get dressed."

Sam was not amused that Dean was apparently going to make fun of him too. The two men got dressed. Dean was stiff, Sam saw and was limping even worse than before. He decided not to mention it though.

In the kitchen, Ellen was still there and so was Henrickson.

"Oh, look the lovebirds crawled out of their love nest long enough to grace us with their presence," Henrickson started the teasing.

"Now hush," Ellen said, but the smile she was wearing did not promise good things. "They're young men. They need lots of energy to keep up that kind of…enthusiasm."

Sam groaned and dropped into the nearest seat, his head in his hands. Dean just laughed. Still, Sam was hungry and Ellen did feed them. He ate heartily but noticed that Dean quickly faded, all the excitement catching up to him. Dean was practically asleep at the table.

Sam finished his and then they made their way back upstairs, Sam thankful that at least they hadn't seen Jo.

The next morning they headed down to breakfast a little later than Sam normally did but not as late as Dean's routine. Sam had woken up early as usual, but Dean had persuaded him to stay in bed a little longer.

They still didn't see Jo, which could mean that the girl had figured it out and now was hiding from them. Sam hoped that he was mistaken though.

"Hey," Sam began. "Are you going to come into the library with me, tell me about your adventure?"

Dean looked apologetic as he answered, "No, I'll be by later. I have some things to take care of."

By this time Sam didn't ask what kind of things or where. He knew that Dean would be off to the west wing as soon as they were finished. So Sam went into the library alone. He had gotten some reading done while Dean was away, if not as much as he should have.

It was midmorning by the time that Sam read a very important passage. It was about the demon, Azazel. Finally he might have found it. Standing Sam made his way to the kitchen, not surprised to find Henrickson there.

"Well, nice to see you at least made it out of bed this morning." The other man laughed at him.

"Haha. Do you know where Dean is?"

"Nope."

Sam knew what that meant. When Henrickson didn't _know _where Dean was, meant that Dean was in the west wing.

Sam knew that Dean didn't want him over there, but he couldn't help but to be curious about the place. Jo was right, there had to be something over there if Dean went there. Dean was just so secretive, but there was no reason to be. Sam hadn't laughed at Dean for owning the books, had believed Dean when he said that he hunted supernatural creatures, and was sympathetic when Dean told Sam about his mother's passing.

Sam was certain that Dean was not keeping anything terrible from him. And if he just knew what the secret was, then he could reassure the other man. Surely that was all Dean needed, reassurance of Sam's loyalty to him, commitment to them. Really, it would be a good thing if he just found out what was over there for himself.

Creeping toward the 'forbidden wing', Sam also told himself that the information that he had _was_ really important. Really, Dean should know about it immediately.

Sam walked past empty rooms filled with dust, white sheets draped over all the furniture. He found one room that seemed to be filled with books, another that was filled with boxes like the ones Dean kept the rabbit's foot in. But Sam kept walking because he could hear voices up ahead.

As he got to the room at the end, Sam could clearly hear Dean's low voice. Dean was talking to someone. Sam moved closer until he could make out the words.

"Dad," Dean's voice was the little boy voice that he had had when speaking of his mother. "I, uh, just got back from a hunt. Werewolf. Do you remember that time that we hunted a werewolf? I was sixteen…anyway, it went well, better than the last time."

Dean huffed a humorless laugh at that. Sam inched closer to the cracked door so that he could see inside. Dean was kneeling beside a low bed on which lay an older man, with a salt and pepper beard, apparently unconscious. Apparently it was the King. And Dean called him Dad. Dean did love the man.

Sam shifted his weight, only a smidge but his weight hit the ancient door and it swung open with a loud screech.

Dean turned at the sound, his eyes wide and horrified before they became shuttered, angry, furious.

"What are you doing here?! I **told** you not to come, never to come over here! You can't…no one can see…Get out! Get out now!"

Terrified and confused, Sam practically fell over as he backed out of the room and then ran down the hallway. At the top of the stairs stood Henderson with Ellen slightly behind and, at the bottom, Jo.

Sam turned back to see Dean still approaching him. "Dean," he tried, his voice pleading. It was then that he saw that Dean was crying, tears creating wet tracks down his face.

"No," Dean's voice was low and menacing. "You have to leave. Get your stuff and leave today."

"But Dean, I…"

"Get out!" And with that, Dean turned back and ran himself back down the hall to the room on the end of the west wing.

Sam turned to Henrickson, to Ellen, disbelief clear on his face. But he could tell the emotions on theirs were simply that of resigned disapproval. Henrickson looked away, but Ellen moved closer, taking him by the arm and saying, "Come with me, dear."

Sam just followed in stunned silence as she led him back to his room. With tears sliding down his face and sniffles, he packed his things.

"I don't understand. I didn't think he would be so upset." He cried.

"I don't know everything about what goes on in that wing, but I do know that Dean needed you to trust him, trust that there was a reason that he didn't want you over there."

Sam sniffled. "I didn't even get to tell him what I found."

They walked to the castle's gate, meeting Henrickson there. "I have a feeling that we'll all be finding out what's going on very soon." She said.

"Here," Henrickson gave him two items, wrapped in cloth. Sam unwrapped the first to find a mirror, but it didn't show his face when he looked into it. It simply stayed a bleary gray. The other it turned out was a ring.

"The mirror will show you anything you want to see. You only need to ask it to show you the castle, or Dean and it will show you." Ellen explained.

"What? How did you…"

"You think we've lived in this castle all these years and have no idea what's going on in it. We have our own connections, collect our own trinkets."

"And the ring," Henrickson continued. "If you need to come back to the castle, turn that ring three times and you'll be back in this courtyard."

Sam nodded, sliding the ring on his right ringfinger. He took a moment to look around at the courtyard, at the beautiful rose bushes now in bloom and the grey castle behind. With a heavy heart, he began the journey back home.

The way home seemed twice as long as it had when he had been going in the opposite direction. Sam remembered the nerves that he had felt, the excitement, the hope for something different and better. And it had been different and better. Sam felt like he had found everything that he had ever wanted inside those castle walls. He had found friends, he had found love.

But it was his curiosity, his insistence that he knew what was right, he knew how things should be that had cost him everything. Maybe it was only right that he be sent home, back to those people that always thought that he acted better than them, better than his station.

Back to his father. Dean did everything for a family that wasn't even there to show him gratefulness, whereas Sam had left his family behind with nary a word. Maybe this was a lesson, a lesson in accepting his place, in learning not to take for granted what he did have. Sam had felt trapped in his village, Dean was literally trapped in the castle walls or in his armor. Sam felt misunderstood, Dean literally lived a life that everyone thought was impossible, that no one would understand and more than that, Dean had to keep it all secret. Dean had responsibilities that he gladly sacrificed everything for.

And Dean didn't complain about any of it. Dean had asked one thing of Sam and Sam had betrayed him. Dean had warned him, said that he couldn't tell Sam, but Sam had pushed, had had to have his way, had to know better.

But Sam still didn't understand. What was the King doing there in the castle this whole time? Was he sick? Was he cursed?

Sam already felt tempted to use the mirror to spy. He wanted to ask it to see the King so he could figure out the mystery. But he wouldn't. He now completely understood that Dean was worth far more than his pride, his supposed intelligence, his curiosity.

The house was empty when Sam got home. He had figured that his father would be working, but Bobby would probably be home soon for lunch. Sam put his things, including the mirror down in his bedroom. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he had last slept in that bed. He had left home a kid with nothing but hopes and dreams, but had returned more grown-up, having had his first taste of bitter regret.

Returning to the kitchen, Sam looked in the pantry and selected the ingredients for a stew. He figured that he might as well make himself useful. He clearly heard his father's steps as the man approached the house and so Sam turned around and smiled as best as he could.

Bobby's face clearly showed his shock at seeing his son in his kitchen again. But then Bobby was rushing forward, wrapping Sam up in a hug so tight and desperate and _grateful_ that Sam felt immensely guilty for the falseness of his smile. He had barely thought of his father, had been too wrapped up in the adventure of being at the castle, but now he felt like the most ungrateful son that ever was born. His father had done the best he could, thrust into single parenthood while having to deal with his grief at his wife's death. Bobby had said a million times that he just wanted the best for Sam.

So he hugged his father back with fervor. Sam had missed the man.

"W-what are you doing here?" Bobby stuttered out.

"I'm back. The Prince had needed me to do some research for him, but it's done now." Turns out Sam could lie as well as his father, but Sam lied to spare himself embarrassment rather than sparing the feelings of someone else.

"Well, that's great!" Bobby was so genuinely excited, but Sam still couldn't help but miss all that he had left behind. "I'm just doing a job over at the Patterson's farm, you can come help me after lunch."

And just like that, everything was exactly the way it had been. But Sam was different. Still, he served up the stew and cut some brown bread. Sitting at his place though, Sam found himself asking a question he hadn't asked since he was a child.

"Dad, what was mom like?"

Bobby looked just as surprised by the question as Sam felt. But Sam had been thinking, about love and family and he wanted to know those things that his father hadn't told him as a child.

"Well I don't know what to say. She was beautiful, smart like you though she couldn't read. She wanted a family so badly," Bobby broke off. The look of wonder that had taken over his face when he had begun speaking had darkened into a look of utter loss at the end.

"You loved her."

"Of course, I did. I'd have done anything for her…"

Sam nodded. Even as terrible as he felt being forced away from the palace and his love, he still couldn't imagine suffering through his lover's death particularly with a child. Bobby had said that he would have done anything for her, and Sam had to wonder if there wasn't some way to fix what had happened between Dean and himself.

The rest of lunch was quiet. Bobby chatted with Sam and the Pattersons through the job as usual and then it was back to the house. Bobby got dinner started, he had gotten a deal on some meat the other day.

Sam found himself wandering into his father's bedroom. He remembered that Bobby had kept his mother's jewelry box in there, for safety's sake when Sam was growing up. It was easy to find amidst all of his father's things, a delicately carved box. He opened it up, finding a cross necklace and a small bottle.

He lifted the bottle up, uncapping it and bringing it to his nose to smell. It was rosewater. The smell brought to mind what Sam had found in the book earlier that day, god that it had only been that morning that Sam had been sitting in the castle's library. Palming the bottle, he went back into his own room.

Sam still regretted not telling Dean what he had found. It was the only thing that he could think of to get back into Dean's good graces. So he picked up the silver mirror, stating clearly as he stared into it. "Show me Dean, the Prince of Winchester."

The mirror's surface swirled like smoke for a second and then it cleared to show Sam what he had asked. Dean was on his knees again, in that room where Sam had found him earlier, but the situation was much different.

The King still lay unmoving on the bed, but it wasn't the bed that Dean was facing. And Dean had been hurt. The Prince had already had a bruise on his cheek when Sam had left, but now his whole face was bruised and bleeding, his lips swollen and split. He looked exhausted, desperate, at the end of his rope.

And he was facing a demon. It was just as Dean had described, tall, probably as tall as Sam himself, broad and muscular, but red, red as the fresh blood on Dean's face, with black horns rising out of his dark hair. And his eyes were yellow.

Slowly Sam became aware that they were speaking, that Dean was begging while the demon laughed, a fiendish noise.

It was the demon whose words, Sam caught first. "I warned you. It was your father's doing that he was cursed, giving you one year to find a way to defeat me before his death, but you knew that if you told anyone, if anyone looked upon him, than your father's life would be forfeit."

"I know. It was my fault. Take me instead, I beg you…"

Sam had heard enough, dropping the mirror but keeping the vial in his left hand, he turned the ring on his right ring-finger three times.

Instantly he was in the castle's courtyard. It was dark already, making everything seem that much more foreboding. Sam ran towards the kitchen door, only stopping to pluck a couple red roses before continuing. As he entered the castle, he could hear voices, Ellen and Henrickson's. Sam's long legs carried him quickly up the staircase and down the corridor of the west wing.

Ellen and Henrickson were indeed yelling and screaming, throwing themselves at the door to the last room. They did not seem surprised to see him.

"You found the answer, right? Before you left?" Henrickson demanded.

"Yes, I need a silver knife, though."

Henrickson took one out of his tunic's belt, handing it over. Sam took it, pouring the rosewater over the blade. Then he turned toward the door. He knew without asking that the demon was keeping it closed magically. But Sam knew that roses were his weakness as symbols of love, the same roses that were planted all over the castle's courtyard.

Sam pressed the red petals of a rose over the door's keyhole and the door opened. Sam gave one rose to Henrickson who hurried to the king and one rose to Ellen who hurried to Dean's side, the Prince now curled on his side on the stone floor. Keeping one rose for himself Sam approached the demon, the manifestation of every child's nightmares.

But the demon was already flinching, grimacing and curling protectively into itself at the red rose that Sam held out in front of him. With confidence he didn't feel, Sam stepped right up to the beast and stabbed him through the heart with the blade.

Three rapt faces watched as the demon convulsed, screaming out threats of vengeance before disappearing in a cloud of black smoke. But Sam was already moving, rushing to Dean and falling on his own knees beside the fallen man.

Ellen had been resting her hand on Dean's shoulder, but Sam had to pick Dean up, wrap his long arms around Dean's torso and move the man into his lap. Dean looked terrible, one eye swollen almost completely shut with blood running down his face from a cut near his hairline, his lips swollen. The man was limp as Sam moved him but gasped out in pain.

Sam supported Dean's head, trying to tenderly wipe away the blood from Dean's eyes so that he could see.

"Dean, are you…are you ok? Are you going to be ok?" Sam's voice was a child's plea, a plea for everything to be ok.

"Course," Dean coughed out. "But why…I sent you away…to be safe, why are you..."

"I know, I know and I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I…"

"You saved us."

"I'd do anything for you. I _will _do anything for you. I'm sorry that I betrayed you, but from now on…"

Sam was interrupted by a new voice, older and gruff from not being used. "Dean?!"

Dean attempted to sit up more at the sound. "Dad?"

Then there was a new person, the King kneeling beside Sam, looking at the man in his lap. "Dean, you…you did it? You got rid of him?"

"Sam did."

The King rightly took the man holding his son to be Sam, and he looked the man over with a measuring eye. Sam looked the man straight in the eye, praying that he was found worthy.

The King looked back to his son. "Are you ok?"

"Fine, sir."

"Don't lie, son."

Dean looked sheepish and for a moment Sam felt like laughing. Even the mighty Dean, Prince and slayer of the supernatural, bowed before the word of his father. "Beat up, sir, but I've had worse. Ribs are probably bruised."

"Well, you be careful with them." Sam could have sworn that the man was talking to Dean, but he looked at Sam as he spoke.

"Yes, sir," Sam answered.

The King nodded. "Help me get him to his room and cleaned up."

And so Sam and the King carried a complaining Dean to his dark green room, trailing Ellen and Henrickson behind them.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Much later…

Sam and Dean loaded their packs onto the waiting horses. Both were filled with excitement and nervousness. They were embarking on a new adventure. Together.

Ellen and Jo, Henrickson, and the King all waited to say their goodbyes to the two young men. A lot had happened since the night that Sam had sent the demon back to hell.

Jo had been sent away shortly after Sam had left that fateful day, Dean insisting on her safety even when he couldn't persuade Ellen and Henrickson to leave. But the girl had returned quickly to help in Dean's recovery.

Dean said that he had never been so cosseted, and the man didn't take to it well. They tried to keep him in bed, propped up on pillows for his ribs, but it was a losing battle.

And the King, well, John had turned out to be both better and worse than Sam had imagined. It was clear that he hadn't been a father to Dean for a long time, perhaps since the Queen had died. It was obvious that he loved Dean, but he forced the responsibility of running a kingdom on his son much too early, had taken away childhood playtime and replaced it with training time, taken Dean on dangerous missions where Dean was not only in danger, but where Dean had to watch his father be hurt and endangered as well.

But now suddenly, John's reason for everything was gone, the demon destroyed, his quest for revenge over and he didn't even get to see it. He was trying, trying to reconnect with his kingdom and his son.

Dean was more difficult to figure out. He had hunted because someone had to save people from the supernatural. And he was proud to be that someone. He couldn't just give that up. So they had reached an agreement. The King would say that the Prince had been sent abroad for an education and Dean and Sam would travel and hunt.

The plan was that Dean would eventually return and take over the kingdom, he already had the experience to do so. And in the meantime, while Dean had healed, John had reluctantly trained an uncoordinated Sam to fight. That was a pretty humiliating experience actually, not least because Dean would come outside to watch, and laugh. But Sam still thought that he would gladly play the fool to hear that laughter, though it would have sounded better without Dean gasping for air afterwards.

And Bobby. Sam's father had been invited/ordered to the castle. Sam didn't want to keep any secrets and he wanted his father to know where he was, what he was doing. And Sam wanted to be able to come back to the castle and see all the people that he cared about.

The castle would be reopened. More servants were coming to fill the vacant positions and there would be balls and dinners and all manner of the trimmings of society. Jo was beside herself with happiness.

And so was Sam. He might be leaving his second home, but he was taking something with him this time, Dean. Dean made Sam happy and they were going to have many adventures together.

Green eyes met hazel ones, both sets filled with intensity. Both filled with love.


End file.
